


Amour

by Eldalire



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Happy Ending, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldalire/pseuds/Eldalire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan was immediately drawn to Montparnasse--His strong arms, his dark hair, his tough-guy attitude--and was overjoyed when they started dating.  But things were not what they seemed, and Jehan is too timid to help himself out of his deepening spiral of abuse and depression.</p><p>Feuilly watches from afar as his long-time love finds Montparnasse more appealing than he.</p><p>Jehan hides his bruises to keep his friends from worrying, but he can't keep this up forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jehan and Montparnasse met at a party Eponine’s sister, Azelma, held for her sister’s birthday, and Jehan was immediately smitten.  Though Jehan was very timid and quiet, he couldn’t help but be enchanted by Montparnasse’s tough-guy attitude, finding his tattoos attractive and the piercings in his ears appealing.  And though Jehan was shy, the moment Montparnasse occupied the seat beside him on the sofa, Jehan couldn’t keep himself from resting his head on his shoulder.

            By the time Jehan left, he had scored Montparnasse’s phone number, and by morning, they had shared too many text messages to count.  The very next day, Montparnasse took Jehan out for breakfast.

            “Nice to see you again.” He said as he held the door for Jehan. “You look cute.” Jehan blushed meekly, his hands fisted in the sleeves of his far-too-big pink sweater, pastel floral leggings adorning his thin legs.  He wore two different colored pairs of Chuck Taylors: one pale pink, the other light blue.  Tall lacey socks were pushed down around his ankles.

            “Thank you.” Jehan replied quietly.  Montparnasse laced his fingers between Jehan’s, and sat across from him in a little window booth.  Jehan said nothing, but looked him over fondly.  Montparnasse was very tall; six foot two to Jehan’s five foot four—and he was thin but strong, his tight black t-shirt accentuating his robust shoulders.  Sleeve tattoos covered the rest of his muscled arms, thorns, skulls, flowers, and constellations blanketed every inch, all the way down to his wrists.  Over the knuckles of his left hand was written ‘Amour’ in curling letters.  Jehan ran his fingers over the word.

            “Have any tattoos?” Montparnasse asked with a small smile. Jehan shook his head.

            “I’m too scared!” he admitted with another meek smile.  Montparnasse chuckled lightly, making the scar on his upper lip more noticeable as he smiled, but Jehan thought it was charming. “Could we get pancakes to share?” he added, running his hand down his loose reddish braid.

            “Sure.” He replied with a smile, leaning over and kissing Jehan’s nose. Jehan was sure he was dreaming.

 

—o0o—

 

It didn’t take long for Jehan to move in with Montparnasse.  He had been sharing a small apartment with Enjolras, but he was simply so smitten, he couldn’t say no.  By the time summer rolled around, they were living together.

            But things were not so lovely after about a month.

            Montparnasse worked during the day as a motorcycle mechanic, but he owned a bar as well.  It was very popular, and he made quite a bit of money, earning Montparnasse quite a nice and very large apartment with a view of the Eifel Tower Jehan thought was simply romantic.  But that meant Jehan was alone most of the day, considering he came from a very wealthy family and hadn’t yet needed a job.

            One Friday night, after Montparnasse had come home from work, he and Jehan hunkered down on the black leather sofa, watching something or other on the TV, Montparnasse’s hand draped over Jehan’s skinny shoulders.

            “Montparnasse?” Jehan asked after a moment.  He looked down, his eyes sleepy.  He took a sip of the beer on the coffee table.

            “Yeah?” he replied.

            “I’m thinking about getting a job.” He said with a smile. “Maybe at that little flower show on the corner. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

            “No. No it wouldn’t be nice.” Montparnasse replied roughly, much to Jehan’s surprise.

            “But why?  Then I can pay part of the rent.  And I won’t be all alone all day when you’re not here.”

            “I said no, Jehan.  I want you here.” Jehan cast his eyes down sadly, pushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear.  “I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” he added with a small smile. “I know you’re safe here.” Jehan returned the small smile. Perhaps that was a good reason…

            “I’ll stay, then.  If that’s what you want.”

            “It is what I want.” He replied, adjusting so Jehan was nestled closer under his arm. He ran his hand through Jehan’s half-up hair.  They sat quietly for a long while, until Jehan’s phone buzzed.

 

Grantaire: 6:13 –Meeting at the Musain! Where are you?

 

Montparnasse read the text over Jehan’s shoulder.

 

Me: 6:13 –I’ll be right there! :)

 

            “I’m sorry, dearest, I forgot about the volunteer meeting tonight. “I’ll be back before ten.” He said, standing with a little grin.  Montparnasse furrowed his thick eyebrows, his lined eyes becoming dark.

            “We just talked about this.  It’s getting dark.  I want you here.”

            “Oh my dear, do not worry for me.  And it’s summertime!  The sun won’t really set for another hour.”

            “I want you here.” He repeated in a commanding tone, standing and taking Jehan’s skinny upper arm in his large, powerful hand.

            “Ouch, ‘Parnasse, you’re hurting me!” Jehan squeaked.  Montparnasse gave him a bit of a shove back down onto the couch, reassuming their previous position, Jehan hunkered down against Montparnasse’s side, his hand draped over his boney shoulders. 

            “Give me your phone.” Montparnasse said after a moment.  Jehan handed it to him, a bit reluctantly, but too shaken to resist.  He texted back:

 

Me: 6:18 –Sorry R, I actually can’t make it. Plans with Montparnasse <3

 

He typed in Jehan’s place.

 

Grantaire: 6:19 –Okay have fun! We’ll miss you!

 

Montparnasse set the phone down on the coffee table and held tight to Jehan, continuing their movie.  Jehan rubbed at the spot Montparnasse had grabbed on his arm, hoping it wouldn’t bruise.  
  


 

 

~Oh no poor Jehan!  I intend to post the entire thing tonight, seeing as it's all written (mostly) to my liking, so do comment and keep reading!  Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

It did bruise, badly, and Jehan was forced into long sleeves, despite the summer heat.  He hated to look at the bluish mark, knowing what it meant, but afraid to admit it to himself. 

            Montparnasse held his hand gently, lovingly, as they walked down the sidewalk in the park, passing benches and children playing, joggers, and other couples. Jehan loved the birdsongs and the breeze. He hadn’t realized how much time he had spent inside Montparnasse’s apartment until he was finally outside again. He smiled, though he was sweating. He wished he could take off his sweatshirt, even though it was thin.  He felt his face becoming red from the heat.

            “You okay?” Montparnasse asked, realizing Jehan’s discomfort.

            “Oh yes!  It’s just warm, is all.” He explained quietly.  Jehan always spoke softly, but lately, he seemed quieter still, as if he were being slowly strangled. 

            “Why don’t you take off your sweatshirt?” he asked.  Jehan shrugged and looked away shortly. 

            “I…I mean, there’s a bruise on my arm.  You really grabbed me last night…”

            “Oh…Well it can’t be that bad.  Not worth being uncomfortable over.” He smiled slightly, gently pulling the unzipped sweatshirt from Jehan’s shoulders, though Jehan resisted placidly for a moment. The area in the center of his upper arm was a large splotch of purplish blue, and vaguely hand-shaped, obviously from a rough grab.  It was quite obvious, and Jehan was frightened someone would question him about it. What would he say? He fell.  Yes.  That’s what happened. He tripped in the kitchen and hit it on the countertop.  He was rather clumsy…his friends would believe him…maybe.  He looked to his feet as they walked.

            Montparnasse ran his deft fingers over the bruise, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Jehan as he pulled away.

            “I was drunk, you know.” he said.  “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.  I just got scared.  I wanted to make sure you stayed.”

            “Yes I know, my dearest.” Jehan replied with a small smile. “I just don’t want the questions, is all…It’s easier to keep it covered up.”

            “Don’t cover it up.  You shouldn’t have to explain it to anyone.”

            “But I don’t want to explain it, that’s why I kept the sweatshirt on.” Jehan explained, gently taking his sweatshirt from Montparnasse’s hand and slipping it back over his arms.  Montparnasse promptly removed it again.

            “Stop it.” Jehan said as harshly as he could, which wasn’t threatening at all.

            “Leave it off.  I want to see it.”

            “Why? It’s ugly…” Jehan placed his hand over the bruise, looking away again.  For one reason or another, the sidewalk was very interesting today…

            “But it means you’re mine.” Montparnasse replied sweetly, leaning over to kiss Jehan’s cheek.  Jehan smiled. As strange as Montparnasse’s reasoning seemed…It was somehow sweet, perhaps even poetic, and Jehan decided to overlook the whole incident.  Montparnasse assured him it was an accident, and Jehan really did love him. No…It wasn’t a big deal. Not at all.  Jehan leaned his head against Montparnasse’s shoulder as they walked.

 

The next Friday, Jehan returned from the Musain at exactly 8:28 pm, and Montparnasse was not pleased.

            “Where were you?” he asked, sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer. Three empty bottles sat abandoned on the coffee table.

            “I was at the Musain.  I told you I was going. Don’t worry.  Feuilly walked me home.” He said with a small smile.

            “You _told me_ you would be home by 8:00.” He said, standing and approaching Jehan as he kicked his shoes off, placing them neatly beside Montparnasse’s own black boots.  He was looming above him when Jehan looked up.

            “Oh you know Enjolras.  He and Grantaire got a little passionate and the meeting went over five minutes.” He smiled.

            “Well where were you in between?  It doesn’t take that long to walk from here to the Musain.”

            “Feuilly had to pick something up at the pharmacy.  It was on the way, so we stopped there for a min—” Jehan stumbled at the force of the blow to his cheek, pressing his hand to the stinging skin there as he fell against the wall, sinking to the floor and siting.

            “You should have called me first!” Montparnasse shouted.

            “I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t think a few minutes would hurt anything.” Jehan tried to explain, holding back tears.

            “A few minutes?!  You’re almost a half an hour late!”

            “You are not my father, Montparnasse.” Jehan said as he stood, his hand still pressed to his burning cheek.  He immediately regretted his words.

            “You’re right.  I’m not your father. I’m your boyfriend, and I don’t like it when you spend so much time with other guys, you get me?” he growled, approaching Jehan, forcing him to retreat until his back hit the wall.

            “But they’re my friends—”

            “You don’t need friends.  You have me.” He replied, his voice softening.  “And you're mine.” he leaned forward for a kiss, but Jehan turned his head. Montparnasse pulled away, slightly put off, and took Jehan’s chin in his hand roughly, forcing his head up and back as he kissed him hard on the mouth, forcing Jehan’s lips apart and biting at them lightly.  Jehan couldn’t help the warm tingle that radiated from his head to his feet, or the loving ripple that forced his hands up to Montparnasse’s half-shaved hair. He couldn’t keep himself from leaning into the kiss, however forced it was.

            “That mark on your cheek…” Montparnasse whispered, bringing his hand to the red-hot slap mark on the side of his face.  “It looks like rouge.  You’re so pretty, Jehan.  You’re like an angel.” Jehan blushed, falling into him, wrapping his arms around his waist. His chest was hard and muscled, as were his abdominals and his arms.  Every inch of Montparnasse was chiseled and sculpted.  He went to the gym for at least two hours every day, often more, and it most certainly showed.

            “I do love you,” he cooed into Montparnasse’s shirt.  Montparnasse ran his hand through Jehan’s long reddish hair, carefully unbraiding it and scratching as his scalp.  He took his hand and lead him back to their shared bedroom, sitting him down on the bed, laying him back and kissing him again, trailing little pecks down his slender, girlish neck.  Jehan cooed and smiled, raking his hand through Montparnasse’s hair, his fingers tangling in the shaggy dark tresses that hung to the side, the space above his ears shaved close.  Montparnasse reached down and slipped his hand up Jehan’s floral t-shirt.

            “Hm…I’m tired, ‘Parnasse.  Another time?” he asked, his green eyes heavy.  He sat up and took Montparnasse’s hand in his, running his thin fingers over his knuckles— _amour_.

            “Ah, but Jehan, you owe me half an hour.” He hissed in reply, pushing Jehan down onto the mattress by his shoulders.

            “Please, Montparnasse, I don’t want to—”

            “You should have thought of that before you stayed out late.” He held Jehan down by the shoulders as he struggled.  Jehan gripped Montparnasse’s wrists and tried to push him away, but he was far stronger, and Jehan’s struggling was fruitless.  After a few moments, Jehan stopped squirming and went more or less limp.

            “That’s my Angel.” Montparnasse said smoothly as Jehan complied. He slipped his skinny frame from his shirt and discarded it against the wall, Jehan taking a shaky breath. Then Montparnasse ran his hands down Jehan’s trim torso, scratching just enough to hurt, before tugging at his waistband.  Jehan sat up again.

            “Please, my Darling.” Jehan squeaked.  “I’ve never…I mean…I’m not ready for this.  Let’s do something else.  Anything else. Please.”  Montparnasse withdrew with a heavy sigh.

            “What do you propose we do, then?” he asked, a sarcastic twang seeping in under his mock-kindness. 

            “Anything. Anything you want. Just not that.”

            “I don’t believe I’m doing this.  After you came home half an hour late!  You owe me, Jehan.  You owe me this. But I guess I’ll let you off.”

            “Thank you, ‘Parnasse.  I do love you.”

            “I know, Angel.” He replied.  “But I still need to teach you a lesson.  Only fair, right?”  Jehan recoiled into himself and pressed his back up against the headboard of the bed. “Come here.”

            “Montparnasse, please don’t hurt—”

            “I said _come here_.” He pointed to the place at the end of the bed, just in front of where he stood. Jehan reluctantly scootched forward until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.  Montparnasse held Jehan’s head to his chest in an almost-embrace, holding him there for a long moment.

            “I love you.” Jehan cooed.

            “I know. That’s why you deserve this.” Montparnasse said, almost soothingly, as he stroked Jehan’s hair. Jehan felt himself begin to cry. Perhaps it was premature, but only slightly.  Montparnasse suddenly flung him back, pushing him against the bed.  Jehan bent his legs and arms in an effort to protect himself, but Montparnasse was far stronger than he, and pried his arms away.

            “Montparnasse pl—” Jehan gasped as another strike to the face radiated and burned from his cheek.

            “Shut up.  You don’t deserve to speak! You promised me you’d be home, and you weren’t!”

            “I’m sorry—” he swung again, his knuckles making contact with Jehan’s bottom lip.  He tasted blood and felt the swelling, but he dared not make a sound.

            “Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?!” Montparnasse shouted. Tears gushed from Jehan’s pretty, green eyes, stinging the cut in his lip.

            “Why are you crying?  You did this to yourself!” he shouted, pushing Jehan down again until he was laying flat on his back. “You’re like a girl, crying like this. You’re like a girl with no chest.” He raked his fingers across Jehan’s undefined pectoral, leaving behind rows of bright red that soon rose into welts.

            “I’m sorry.” Jehan squeaked, hardly audible.  “Please forgive me, ‘Parnasse, I’m so sorry…”

            “You’re sorry you got caught!  Sneaking around with Feuilly!  You’re my boyfriend, and everyone is going to know it.” He growled in return before taking one final swing at Jehan, his fist meeting Jehan’s eye.  The last thing Jehan saw before passing out were Montparnasse’s knuckles; _Amour_.


	3. Chapter 3

Montparnasse went into the bar at 7:00 in the morning that Saturday to set up for a party, and wouldn’t be home until late. So Jehan sat alone on the bed, looking out the window of the apartment, his eye black and his lip painfully cut and swollen.  The scratches across his chest and stomach had become long raised welts that stung to touch. There was blood in his hair from his lip and more on his hands from when he tried to wipe it away, but he ignored it. He thought of nothing. He felt nothing. He was nothing—only a wisp. He hadn’t even bothered to clean himself up.  It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

            His phone buzzed on the night table, and he jumped, startled, before realizing what it was and reaching for it quickly.  If it was Montparnasse and he did not reply fast enough, he feared he would be punished.  Montparnasse liked it when Jehan replied right away.  That meant he was home…waiting.

            But it wasn’t Montparnasse.  It was Enjolras, and Jehan smiled, though it was painful to his cut and swollen lip.

 

Enjolras: 7:47 –Hey Jehan want to come to the beach with us today?  We’re taking the train

 

Jehan sighed, his smile diminishing. He knew what he looked like, and he knew that if he went out, his friends would question him.  He couldn’t face that.  He didn’t want to lie to them, but he couldn’t tell them the truth. They wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know how much Montparnasse loved him, how much he cared about Jehan, and how much Jehan loved him in return. He thought for a long moment, trying to think of a way to cover it up—to cover up his blemishes and bruises. He could wear sunglasses. Or stop at the drug store and pick up makeup.  That would cover it. And Montparnasse would never know. Jehan would be back long before he got home. He smiled.

 

Me: 7:49 –Yes please!  Pick me up at Montparnasse’s :)

Enjolras: 7:49 –be over at 8:30-ish to catch the train!

Me: 7:50 –thank you love!

 

He couldn’t help but smile wider. He hadn’t had a day out in a long time. But he had to hurry if he was going to cover everything up before Enjolras came…

 

—o0o—

 

Jehan ran to the 24-hour drug store and picked up a few different colors of liquid foundation, the really thick stuff, as well as powder to keep it from looking too…make-up-y.  The woman behind the counter looked concerned, considering his appearance and his purchases, but Jehan did his best not to think on it, to ignore the horrible feeling he got in his stomach.

When he returned to the apartment, he rubbed a shade of the foundation over his face, pleased when the ugly purple ring around his eye and the bridge of his nose diminished. He waited for it to dry before applying another coat, just to be sure it was covered completely, then pat on the powder.  He smiled, happy with the result.

            After slipping into his pale blue swim trunks, he applied the makeup to the scratches across his chest and the bruise that still lingered on his arm. The fat lip could easily be explained by a mug falling from the kitchen cabinet and hitting his mouth. Perfect.  He tugged on a t-shirt for travel purposes, took a towel and sunscreen, then headed out to meet Enjolras.

 

—o0o—

 

“There’s Jehan!” Joly called from where he sat under a beach umbrella as Jehan walked from the changing room. Joly wasn’t one for the beach—too many germs and risks—but he came anyhow, keeping to the shade with Bossuet, who waved.

            “Hello!” Jehan replied with a smile.

            “How’s everything? It was good to see you last night. We missed you the week before.” Grantaire said with a smile, leaning on an old boogie board. Courfeyrac stood beside him with his own. 

            “Oh! I’m sorry, I was with Montparnasse!” he explained, pushing up the round retro sunglasses he wore—extra precaution. It wasn’t a lie, after all.

            “Everything’s been good with him?” Enjolras inquired.  He didn’t know Montparnasse all that well, and was very close with Jehan as his prior roommate.

            “Oh yes!” Jehan replied, smiling, but very quiet.  He sat beside Joly on the edge of the beach towel, burying his feet in the sun-warmed sand.  He ran his hand down his long braid, sitting quietly as Enjolras, Combeferre, and Bahorel struck up a conversation about their latest fundraising endeavor. Joly and Bossuet put together sandwiches for everyone from the cooler they had brought.  Marius and Cosette were busied by their sand castle. Feuilly ran up shortly, wet and dripping as he gave Grantaire a smack on the shoulder.

            “Way to leave me out there all alone!” he joked, his own boogie board draped over his shoulder by the wrist leash.  “Oh hey Jehan!  When did you get here?” he asked with a smile and a bit of a blush.  He and Grantaire had stayed at the beach overnight to go surfing in the morning.  Jehan jumped slightly at his name but looked up after a moment.

            “Hello Feuilly.” He replied simply before returning to burying his feet in the sand.  Feuilly knit his thick eyebrows, slightly concerned, but mostly hurt.  He had been quietly pursuing Jehan for quite a while, but he was too shy to come right out and say anything.  When Montparnasse slipped into Jehan’s life and was accepted immediately, he became a bit frustrated.  Still, he couldn’t help but try, and was always especially kind to Jehan.

            “Want to come swimming?  The water is really warm.” Feuilly offered.

            “I’m not sure—” Jehan cooed quietly, worried about his makeup. The bottle did say waterproof, though…

            “I’ll teach you how to boogie board!”

            “Yeah we’ll go out too.” Grantaire said with a smile.  Jehan forced a grin and stood, shaking the sand off his feet and removing his sunglasses.

            “I don’t—”

            “Come on.  It’ll be fun!” Courfeyrac said. Combeferre snapped a picture.

 

            “Okay you just have to lay on it, and I’ll give you a push. Just keep the front of the board up so you don’t plow water and flip over!” Feuilly explained. Jehan nodded, frightened, but exhilarated at the same time.  He knew Feuilly wouldn’t do anything that would hurt him.  No…Not Feuilly.  


            “Here comes a good one, Feuilly.” Grantaire said as a wave rolled in. He paddled on his own board.

            “Ready?” Feuilly asked with a smile.

            “I guess, but how do I—” Feuilly pushed him off.

            The next thing he knew, he was tumbling face over feet in the breakwater, inhaling a mouthful of water.  The boogie board hit the back of his head, and memories of the night before rushed back to him. Montparnasse’s dark figure looming over him as he cowered on the bed, the slaps, the punches, the welts on his chest…everything.  He thrashed when a pair of strong arms pulled him from the water.

            “I’m sorry Jehan, are you alright?  That wasn’t supposed to happen, I’m so sorry.”  Jehan stood stock still for a few seconds before getting ahold of himself.

            “I’m alright.” He squeaked, coughing and leaning into Feuilly before looking up and wiping the water out of his eyes.  Feuilly’s eyes widened.  “What’s wrong?” Jehan asked.

            “What happened to your eye, Jehan?” he asked, taking the boogie board strap off Jehan’s skinny wrist.  Enjolras and Combeferre came running down to the waterfront, shortly followed by Joly and Bossuet.

            “Are you alright?” Joly asked.  “Did you swallow water?”

            “Just a little…” Jehan said, nearly silent, trying to cover his eye.

            “What did you do to your arm?”  Enjolras asked.  Jehan slapped his hand over the bruise, his other shading his eye.

            “N-nothing! Nothing—!” he insisted, looking down, feeling tears well in his eyes.

            “Jehan how did this happen?” Enjolras asked, placing a hand on Jehan’s shoulder. He flinched, and Enjolras recoiled.

            “I—I fell.” He stammered, trying to concoct a story as he was helped back to the beach blanket, where Feuilly sat him down and held his hand.

            “Where did you fall?  There are bruises all over you.” Joly said, inspecting the injuries.  “This one is old, though.  At least from a week ago.” He added, running a gentle hand over the bruise on Jehan’s upper arm.

            “I fell…down the stairs.  It was stupid, I…I was…I was just getting out of the shower and…my—my feet were wet and I slipped.”

            “And you arm?  Or your eye?” Bossuet asked, suspicious.  He boxed, and knew quite a bit about bruises himself.  He knew what the aftermath of a punch looked like…and Jehan’s eye was textbook.

            “Montparnasse—” Jehan tried to explain.  He didn’t want to lie, so he began a half truth: an accident.  Montparnasse had hit him by accident.

            “Jehan did he do this to you?” Enjolras broke in, suddenly livid.

            “No! No not on purpose, I was…I was, um…I was bending to pick something up and he elbowed me by mistake. That’s all.” He gushed. Enjolras bowed his eyebrows.

            “Jehan if he’s hurting you I swear I’ll—”

            “No.” Jehan insisted.  “It isn’t him. It’s my fault. I’m…clumsy.  You know that.” He assured them, though he continued to cry. Besides Jehan, Feuilly looked the most distressed, and he continued to stroke Jehan’s willowy hand as Jehan wiped his eyes on a towel.

            “Jehan don’t cry.  It’s alright.” Courfeyrac cooed quietly, unsure of what to say.  Combeferre only stood and bit his lip.  He was relatively awkward to begin with, and comforting words did not come easily to him, unless of course they were to Courfeyrac, whose hand he was currently holding.

            “I-I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m embarrassed.” Not a lie, “I tried to cover it up so I didn’t worry you, but—”

            “Are you sure Montparnasse isn’t doing anything to you, Jehan?” Enjolras asked again.

            “Yes. I mean no!  I mean…Yes, I’m sure.” He looked away.

            “Because if he is, you need to—”

            “Enjolras lay off.” Feuilly said suddenly, his tone only slightly sharp. He knew they were trying to help. “He said no.  He wouldn’t lie.”  Jehan felt like he had been punched in the gut.  _He wouldn’t lie._


	4. Chapter 4

The moment Jehan got home at around three, he began to destroy the evidence of his day at the beach. He threw his shirt and bathing suit bottoms into the washing machine, then the drier, and put them exactly where they had been before: folded neatly in his single drawer in the bedroom. He took a shower and dried his hair, replacing his braid and pulling out a few strands so it didn’t look too ‘new’. He erased the group messages from his phone, and left the conversation so there would be no messages pertaining to their day out.   Finally, he hid all of the makeup he purchased in his travel bag in the back corner of the closet—a place Montparnasse would never look—and then sighed heavily, flopping down on the sofa and snuggling up with a pillow.

            “Good. Good.  Everything is put away…everything is perfect.” He whispered to himself. He had begun speaking to himself more and more as he became more isolated.  He was alone all day, most days, and had nothing to do, nobody to talk to except for himself.  Sometimes he caught himself holding entire conversations with nobody there but himself. It frightened him, but when he asked Montparnasse about getting a pet to keep him company, he, of course, refused.

            By 7:30, Jehan was fast asleep on the couch, his bruised eye closed, his damaged lip hanging slightly ajar as an episode of Blue Planet played on the BBC. At rest, Jehan was worriless. When he was asleep, he was safe, he was free.  There were times he wished he could fall asleep for a very long time—forever, perhaps. He didn’t want to die, he only wished to feel the soothing lull of sleep all the time; the security, the quiet, the freedom. 

            If Jehan could have made the world exactly the way he liked it, he would spend the day with Montparnasse—kind Montparnasse, the Montparnasse that loved him, the Montparnasse he met at Eponine’s party months ago. He wanted the warm embraces, the kind words, the loving gestures.  He wished Montparnasse wouldn’t drink, and he wished he wouldn’t get so angry. He wished things were different, but they weren’t.  They were how they were, and the situation was slowly crushing Jehan’s small, bright soul. But he refused to give in to it. He loved Montparnasse with all his heart, and he was sure Montparnasse loved him in return.  No matter what happened, they would always love each other.

 

Right?

 

At around 8:00, Montparnasse reentered the apartment, kicking off his shoes with a smile, his arms full of flowers. In one hand, he held a box of Jehan’s favorite candy: dark raspberry chocolate truffles, as well as a small bag of Lavender suckers, another of Jehan’s favorites.  Under the other arm was tucked a massive stuffed rabbit made of super soft, plush fabric, just like Jehan’s favorite blanket. Montparnasse could hardly hold the huge bouquet in his arms, yellow flowers of every variety obscuring most of his face.

            “Jehan?” he said quietly, noticing his small sleeping form on the sofa. Jehan gave a small coo in his sleep, but did not wake.  Montparnasse smiled sweetly, placing the bundle of flowers and the candy onto the kitchen counter before using the stuffed rabbit to kiss Jehan’s nose.  His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled.

            “How are you, Angel?” Montparnasse whispered softly, sitting on the edge of the sofa, in front of Jehan.

            “Hmm…” he hummed, “I’m alright.  But I am better now that you’re here.”  Montparnasse smiled, running his hand over Jehan’s bruised nose and eye, almost admiring it, a fond sort of look in his eyes.  Jehan closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, forgetting for a moment his injury, his ugly mark disappearing into the loving contact.

            “I got you a present.” He continued, handing the rabbit to Jehan.

            “Oh, My Dear, you didn’t have to.” Jehan relied, snuggling the pale pink stuffed animal, running his hands down the floppy ears.

            “Of course I did.  You’re the best, sweetest, most wonderful boyfriend I could ever imagine.” He gave Jehan a gentle kiss on the lips, and he smiled in return, feeling the scab on his lip crack and split, beginning to bleed…again.  Montparnasse pressed a tissue to the bleeding and carefully wiped it away.

            “You’re beautiful, Jehan.” He whispered.

            “Not like you.” Jehan replied, reaching up and running his hand down Montparnasse’s cheek. “Not with a black eye—” he added in a whisper.

            “You are always beautiful, Jehan.  Everything about you is beautiful.”

            “Not my bloody lip…”

            “Forget about that.  You look beautiful, even with your eye and your lip…It’s…it’s cute.” Jehan felt as if his entire interior turned to lead and dropped, the space replaced by butterflies. He knew the implication…He knew what it meant—and yet it gave him a sort of thrill. He felt warm and contented. Adored. 

            “Why?” Jehan asked.  “Why do you think it looks nice?”

            “It makes you look like you need taking care of.  I can take care of you.”  he smiled. Jehan sat up and leaned into him, and Montparnasse hugged him snuggly, holding one of his large, lanky hands over the back of Jehan’s head, giving it a little rub.

            “I love you.” Jehan whispered.

            “I know, Angel.”

A moment later, there was a knock on the door.  Montparnasse stood up, raising an eyebrow, looking back to Jehan.  He shrugged in reply.  He hadn’t a clue who it could possibly be, but he was worried, nonetheless. The color drained from his face when he saw it was Enjolras, holding Jehan’s pink floral beach towel in his hand.

“Hey, Montparnasse!” Enjolras said cheerfully, smiling up at him.  Enjolras was not especially tall, and Montparnasse was over six feet.

“Hey, Enjolras!  What’s up?” he replied.  Jehan stood up from where he sat, and took Montparnasse’s hand.

“Enjolras we were just…I mean…would you like to come in?” Jehan’s face flushed an even more sickly shade of pale. He prayed Enjolras would agree, that the impending ‘punishment’ could be delayed.

“Oh I’m sorry…Thank you, but I’m on my way to Grantaire’s. You just left this in my car and I was in the neighborhood.” He said with a smile, handing Jehan his towel and sunglasses. Jehan took it with shaking hands, forcing a smile.

“Oh thank you, dearest! I’ll talk to you later, I promise!” Jehan said.

“Don’t worry about it. See you guys later!” Enjolras said, pulling the door shut.  The moment his footsteps descended the stairs, Montparnasse turned to Jehan.

“What did you do?” he hissed. Jehan’s lip trembled and tears fell from his eyes.

“Montparnasse it’s from a while ago, I—”

“What. The fuck.  Did. You. do?” he said again, more forcefully, taking a step towards tiny Jehan, looming above him, his face dark, his eyes stony.

“I didn’t do anyth—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me!” he shouted, grabbing the hair at the top of Jehan’s head, pulling it out of its braid. Jehan stood on his toes, trying to relieve the pain, but Montparnasse fisted his hand.

“Montparnasse!” Jehan squeaked, using every ounce of strength in an attempt to pry Montparnasse away, tugging at his wrists as he cried.

“Did you go out today?!” he shouted.

“Please, Montparnasse! I’m sorry!  Please! You’re hurting me!” he pleaded around his tears. Montparnasse threw him down onto the sofa by his hair, and Jehan immediately grabbed a pillow in an attempt to defend himself, bending his knees and arms, holding the pillow over his head. Montparnasse ripped it away easily.

“Where did you go?!” Jehan looked away.

“I’m sorry, Montparna—ah!” he yelped as Montparnasse grabbed his chin roughly, whipping his head forward, making him look him in the eye.

“Jehan, I gave you such simple rules! You stay here so I know you’re safe, and I come home and take care of you, right?!  That’s it!  All you have to do is stay here!  Why is that so difficult for you?!” he growled.

“I miss my friends.” He sobbed, shaking as he waited for what was next, and hanging on desperately to every second he wasn’t in pain. 

“You don’t need them, Jehan! You have me!  We talk about this all the time!  You’re an idiot, Jehan!  You do this to yourself!”

“No—!” Jehan held his arms up in defense of his head, and he held them there as long as he could, even as Montparnasse pried at his elbow. 

“Fuck, Jehan!” he shouted. A snap that sounded like a sonic boom radiated through the room, followed shortly by a writhe and scream from Jehan. His left arm limp and his fingers becoming numb.

“Shut up!  The entire fucking building will hear you!” he gave Jehan a crack in the jaw with his fist, and Jehan felt his own teeth bite into his tongue, the coppery taste of blood once again seeping down his throat. He was in so much pain, so much agony, that he couldn’t bring himself to make a sound.  Instead, he cried, his once-immaculate face twisted into a silent open-mouthed scream, his tongue bleeding, his jaw already beginning to bruise.

“‘Parnasse, please…” Jehan pleaded, his voice hardly understandable around his mouthful of blood, his swollen tongue, and his aching jaw.  His cheek was beginning to swell, and he could feel his un-blackened eye squeezing shut.

“Please what?!”

“S-stop-p-p…” he mumbled.

“Why?!  This is _your_ fault! You went out today after I _told you_ not to! You went to the fucking beach with Enjolras and all the other guys!  I told you I don’t want you with them!” he reached into the pocket of Jehan’s sweatshirt and pulled out his phone, flinging it across the room. It shattered as it hit the edge of the countertop.  Jehan flinched at the sound, his entire body shaking.  He was suddenly aware that he was freezing cold, though he was slicked with sweat. Montparnasse grabbed his limp arm and used it to fling Jehan onto the floor.  He crumpled in on himself, creating a ball on the carpet, a puddle of what was once Jehan, all the sunshine and happiness gone from him, leaving behind nothing but a bloodied shell of a young man.

Montparnasse kicked him in the ribs, another crack radiating through Jehan.  A second kick.  A third kick. A kick to the face, causing blood to gush from his nose, his head whipping back in a grotesque display.

Jehan was dragged up to his knees by his long braid, and Montparnasse tugged him along, across the room to the kitchen, where he took a pair of scissors. 

“Please don’t.” he pleaded, sure this was the end.  Montparnasse was going to stab him, and he was going to die.  But he wasn’t afraid.  Death didn’t seem like a punishment to him.  It seemed like a mercy.

“Nobody is going to want to be with you when I’m done.  Feuilly or whatever the fuck his name is will think you’re so disgusting he won’t even look at you.” he pulled up on Jehan’s braid, the pulling causing such intense pain, he became lightheaded.  But suddenly the tension was released.  Jehan’s long, beautiful hair hung limply in Montparnasse’s hand, and Jehan fell to the floor.

“This will teach you, you little slut.” He growled, throwing Jehan back onto the sofa, giving him a whack to the chest with the flat of his hand, then boxing his ears. Jehan screamed, his eardrum exploding.

“Shut up!” he threatened. Jehan coughed, his own blood choking him as he was held down.  He continued to sob loudly, unable to help himself, the pain so drastic he couldn’t control his screaming.  “Shut. Up!” Montparnasse shouted again, delivering a final blow to the head with his fisted hand. Once again, the last thing Jehan saw before passing out were those knuckles…that single word.  
  
_Amour_.

 

Enjolras had just stepped onto the second landing in the stairwell when he heard the first scream.  He stopped, waiting a moment in silence, before bowing his blonde eyebrows and continuing on his way.  Surely it was a mistake…his imagination.  The only apartment there was Montparnasse and Jehan’s, and he had been there not a moment ago.  Everything seemed fine.

            But at the third landing, he realized something was seriously wrong when he heard another deafening scream from the top floor.  He vaulted back up the stairs and ran to the apartment door, trying the knob, jiggling the lock, feeling above the doorframe for a key. He threw himself against the door, knocking and pounding frantically as he listened to poor Jehan screaming and crying, and Montparnasse’s booming voice berating him.  He almost vomited when he heard the snap of a bone.

            “Jehan!” he called to the door, continuing to pound and beat and knock, trying to break it down.  “Jehan I’m coming!” he shouted.  “It’s alright I’m here!” he tried to tell him, to offer some sort of comfort as he dialed the police, unaware that Jehan and Montparnasse were too deafened either by raw rage or pain to hear him.


	5. Chapter 5

Jehan woke up early the next morning in a hospital bed, his entire face puffy, his left eye swollen shut. A neat row of stiches ran across his chin, and another down the side of his nose.  His blackened eye remained, but had been given a new color, a dark blue replacing the half-healed, purple-red it had been before. The bruising was evident at his hairline as well, and though he didn’t know it, a patchy bald spot had appeared at the crown of his head.  His long tresses were gone, and in their place was a haphazard chop, as if a toddler had cut his hair. His left arm was in a pale blue cast up to the shoulder, and he found breathing painful, three ribs snapped in half. A tooth was chipped. His left eardrum had been completely destroyed by the box to his ears, and he wasn’t expected to regain all of his hearing.  A cotton pad was taped over his ear to catch the fluid that had collected there. He wasn’t recognizable as Jehan at all, so sad and so hurt, but the moment his eyes fluttered open, he attempted a smile.

            “Enjolras?” he murmured.

            “I’m right here.” He said, taking Jehan’s hand and holding it gently.

            “I’m sorry.” Tears sprang to his eyes, but Enjolras wiped them away, Jehan too weak to do it himself.

            “This isn’t your fault, Jehan.  None of this is your fault.  You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

            “I lied to you—”

            “No. Jehan don’t worry about it.”

            “Where’s Montparnasse?” he asked, frightened.

            “Don’t worry. He isn’t going to hurt you anymore.” Enjolras whispered in return, running his thumb over Jehan’s bruised knuckles.  It seemed all of him was black and blue, even the bottoms of his feet from fending off attacks.  His once creamy skin was a wash of yellow and purple and blue and green, and it broke Enjolras’ heart.

            “My blanket is here…” Jehan noted, feeling the thick plush snuggle blanket he always slept with.  It was a pale yellow and decorated with a plethora of flowers.

            “Feuilly brought it.  He thought you would want it.”

“What time is it?” Jehan looked around the room.  It was dark, save for an episode of Cold Case playing on the TV, casting a bluish glow—Enjolras liked crime documentaries.

            “It’s about three in the morning.”

            “Did I wake you up?  I’m sorry, I—”

            “Jehan! It’s okay!  I’ve been up.  Feuilly called me to sit with him and keep him company.  He tried to stay awake… I thought I’d stay after he fell asleep. I didn’t want you to be alone if you woke up.”

            “Oh that was so nice of you, my dear.” Jehan cooed, his once songlike voice muffled by a swollen tongue and a split lip.  A ball of cotton was wadded up in his mouth to catch the blood.

Jehan thought for a long moment, sitting quietly, contemplative.  Feuilly. It was always Feuilly. It was Feuilly who pulled him out of the breakwater at the beach.  Feuilly who stood up to Enjolras when he was prying.  Feuilly who carried Jehan home to bed when he fell asleep at the Musain meetings before he met Montparnasse.  Feuilly who came over to Enjolras’ apartment to clean up Jehan’s room when he was especially flustered.  Feuilly who always insisted on walking him home.  It was always Feuilly.  It was still Feuilly.

            Jehan looked to him, the young man sleeping in the nearby chair in the corner of the small hospital room.  He couldn’t have been comfortable, with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting against the wall, but still he was there, steadfast and patient as always, waiting for Jehan to see.  And he did see. He finally saw what love really was; it wasn’t gifts and snuggles and sharing a home, and it certainly wasn’t beatings or bruises.  It was caring. It was compassion. It was Feuilly.

            “I’ll wake him.  He said he wanted to see you right away when you came-to.” Enjolras said, pushing himself up and off the hospital bed.

            “Oh you don’t have to…” Jehan said, feeling guilty again.  He didn’t want to wake Feuilly, who had obviously been sitting there all day and night, fighting to stay awake.

            “He wants to see you.  I promised him I’d wake him.” Enjolras said, giving Feuilly a little pat on the shoulder. He sprang to life, looking first to Enjolras, then catching his bearings and immediately looking to the bed. Jehan lifted his hand off the covers and gave a little wave, doing his best to smile.  Feuilly’s grin was wider and brighter than any Jehan had seen before.  He rushed to the bedside and took Jehan’s hand.

            “Oh my God I’m so happy you’re awake!” he said, tears coming to his bright blue eyes.

            “Me too.” Jehan replied as Feuilly brushed a particularly long stray strand of hair off his forehead.

            “Oh! I—I got you…I mean, I know you like those lavender sucker candy things.  I got a bag of them.  I mean, for when you’re feeling better…Not that you’re not alright, I just—I got you this too.” He reached beside the small nightstand and pulled out a knit stuffed cat with a big smile and rainbow spots.  He handed it to Jehan, who wrapped his good arm around it, snuggling it as tightly as his weak body would allow.

            “Thank you, Feuilly.” He replied. 

            “Enjolras named him Monsieur Meow-meow.”  Feuilly laughed.  Enjolras chuckled.

            “That is a very good name, I think.” He shivered, and Feuilly covered him with his yellow blanket, tucking him in tight.  It was then that Jehan noticed the cast on his arm.

            “My arm is broken?” he asked.

            “In two places.  And your shoulder was dislocated.”  Enjolras explained.

            “Oh goodness…Is anything else very wrong?”

            “Um…well…You chipped a tooth…Or rather, Montparnasse chipped your tooth. And you have stiches on your chin and your nose, and on your tongue.  They re-set your jaw, too.  You were really beat up.”  Enjolras continued.

            “And your hair…I’m sorry.” Feuilly added, running his hand through what was left of Jehan’s beautiful strawberry tresses.

            “Oh…” Jehan replied simply, sadly.  “I’m so stupid. I should have left…This is my fault.”

            “Jehan this is not your fault.  Don’t you _ever_ think it was your fault.” Feuilly said sternly. “This is Montparnasse’s fault. None of this should have happened to you, no matter what.  Even if you _were_ a jerk or did whatever, which you didn’t, you still never _ever_ deserved this.”

            “I should have told you.  I should have told you on the beach.  I was just so scared, and I really did love him, as silly as that sounds now…”

            “I know. It’s alright.  Nobody blames you, Jehan.”

            “Feuilly?”

            “Hm?”

            “There was something else I should have told you on the beach…” Jehan squeaked. Enjolras took that as his cue to ‘head to the bathroom’, leaving Feuilly and Jehan alone.

            “What’s up?” Feuilly asked with a little smile.

            “I should have told you how much I love you.”

 

Feuilly was speechless, his hand and Jehan’s entwined together. A smile crept across his face, and Jehan laughed as best he was able to.

            “I—You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to tell you that I love you too.” He ran his free hand down Jehan’s cheek, puffy and swollen, but still soft and smooth and warm. Jehan leaned away slightly, and Feuilly withdrew.  “I’m sorry.” He said quickly, sitting on the end of the bed.

            “Oh no, Feuilly, do not be sorry…I just…I don’t think I can…I’m afraid, still. Not of you!  Never of you!  But…”

            “It’s okay. I understand.” He smiled.

            “But I…I mean…Maybe when I get out of here, we could go strawberry picking or something.” He smiled.

            “I would like that a lot.” Feuilly returned the grin.


	6. Chapter 6

Jehan was in the hospital for almost a week. The first few days were painful and slow, and as soon as he was stable, he went in for surgery to rebuild his shattered eye socket.  Three more painful days later, and Jehan was sent home, back to Enjolras’ apartment where his room was waiting for him, as if he never left.  

            After the stiches were removed from his chin and nose, and the bruises had faded from his eyes and cheeks, he began to feel more like himself again. Courfeyrac gave him a more suitable haircut, trimming up the haphazard chop Montparnasse had left him with, and turning it into a cute pixie cut.  Bossuet set up a hat-giving party for Jehan to help him cover the permanent bald patches in his hair until it grew out enough to cover them.  His favorite was a pale pink crochet barrette that Grantaire gave him. He pinned a silk flower to the side before giving it to Jehan, and it suited him well.  He wore it nearly every day.

            Though his condition was improving, Jehan was not the same. He seemed withdrawn to everyone, and spent very much time alone in his room, writing at his desk near the window or in bed on his laptop.  Nobody was allowed to see his writing, and at times, nobody could pull him out of his trance-like state.  Sometimes he would simply sit on the end of his bed and look in the mirror on the wall beside the door, running his hands down his face, through his cropped hair, looking to the sling he was told to use until his shoulder healed properly.  It seemed as though he had never seen himself before, as if he were looking in a mirror for the first time.  And perhaps he was.  Jehan was not the same as he had been before.

           

Jehan was sitting on the end of the bed, looking in the mirror when Feuilly knocked lightly on the door, Enjolras watching intently from the sofa.  He had called Feuilly when he was unable to pull Jehan from a particularly intense bout of depression.  It was two in the afternoon, and Jehan hadn’t left his bedroom for anything.  He had been in a bad slump of sorts for three days, and had hardly left his room at all, but things were getting worse.  He hadn’t eaten the toast Enjolras left on his night table, and he hadn’t spoken a word.  He hoped Feuilly would be able to stir him; he was one of the few people Jehan allowed to touch him, and was the only one of their friends who hadn’t gotten something thrown at them upon trying to force entry into Jehan’s room.

            “Jehan?” he asked, peeking around the door.  He made no reply, simply sitting at the foot of the bed, hunched over and looking in the mirror.  His hands were in his lap, and he absently picked at his fingernails; his oversized tie-dye pajama shirt hung off his shoulders as if on a wire hanger. 

            “Jehan can I come in?” Feuilly attempted again.  Enjolras continued to watch from where he sat on the couch, looking over the backrest.  Feuilly had made it farther than anyone else had in the past three days. Grantaire attempted humor to cheer up Jehan, and had a copy of the Iliad thrown at him.  Combeferre was nearly knocked out by a shoe. Enjolras had to hold Jehan down while Joly examined him, checking his arm, hearing, and nose. Jehan’s once thin, straight nose had been horribly deformed by Montparnasse’s fist, leaving him with a crooked, misshapen bridge and a deviated septum that caused him trouble breathing.

Enjolras called Feuilly the moment he got home from a weekend away for work, praying his intervention would brighten Jehan’s spirits.

            When Jehan didn’t reach for a book to throw, Feuilly stepped inside the room, leaving the door cracked. 

            “Having a hard time, huh?” he said quietly, sitting beside Jehan on the bed, far enough away so that they didn’t touch, but close enough that Jehan could lean against him if he wanted to, and he did.  Feuilly rested his head atop Jehan’s, and together they looked in the mirror for a long moment.

            “Can I give you a hug?” Feuilly asked.  Jehan nodded slowly, and Feuilly pulled him into a gentle embrace. Jehan fisted his hands in Feuilly’s shirt and began to cry quietly.  Feuilly ran his hand up and down his back.

            “I’m sorry.” He mumbled into his chest between sobs.

            “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Feuilly replied.

            “Everyone is worried over me.”

            “We just want you to get better.  We want you to be happy.”

            “I’m sorry I’m not happy.”

            “Nobody blames you, Jehan.” He assured him, still holding his tiny frame. Though Jehan had always been small, he lost a considerable amount of weight through everything, and felt skeletal in Feuilly’s arms.

            “I want to be happy.  I just…I feel like a different person.  I don’t even look the same.” He pulled his face from Feuilly’s shirt and looked into the mirror again. “I was hoping that if I looked long enough, Jehan would come back…But it’s still me.”

            “You’re still you.  You might be different, but that’s okay.  Things change. People change. It’s okay.” 

            “I’m not Jehan…Jehan was beautiful.” He brought a shaking hand to his face and wiped his tears away, looking at himself in the mirror again, running his careful fingers down his nose, hesitating on the bump in the side, the scar left by his stiches. He moved to the raised white line above his eye, a reminder of the surgery that rebuilt the bones surrounding his eye.

            “You’re still beautiful, Jehan.”

            “Please don’t lie.  I can see myself. I’m broken.  I’m like a shattered china vase put back together with duct tape.” Feuilly was quiet for a moment, trying to think of something to say. 

Of course Jehan was no longer the beautiful specimen of a human being he had been before. His immaculate face was riddled with healing scars and odd shapes that didn’t belong.  The precise symmetry had been lost, leaving him awkward and unbalanced.  His back was no longer smooth and flawless; instead it was riddled with welts and scratches that would forever remind him of his struggles.  He had developed dermatillomania—compulsive skin picking—and his arms, shoulders, and torso were riddled with scabs and scratches Jehan had inflicted upon himself. 

Perhaps what upset him the most, though, was his hair.  Jehan was a humble being, always looking out for others, sharing what he had. Nobody outside his close circle of friends knew he came from a wealthy family.  But Jehan did take pride in one thing: his thick, long, auburn hair. He had never had it cut, and took remarkable care of it: no heat, no product, nothing but gentle brushes and braids. But now it was all gone, and some of it would never come back.  It pained him to see his once flowing waves chopped short and stiff.

“Maybe some things look different…but there are lots of things that are still beautiful about you.”

“Nothing is beautiful about me, Feuilly.”

“These are beautiful.” He took Jehan’s hands in his own, running them over his knuckles, gliding down his long, smooth fingers, admiring how delicate they were. “And these are beautiful.” He added, taking Jehan’s unbroken arm and giving a gentle poke to the freckles that resided there.  “They look like stars. You’re covered in stars, Jehan. An entire galaxy.” Jehan remained unconvinced, looking to his lap.

“But the most beautiful thing about you is your eyes.  I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like yours.”

It was true. Jehan had wonderfully large and unusual eyes.  They were a deep, happy green, and Jehan took comfort in the fact that they remained unchanged. He smiled for the first time in days, and leaned against Feuilly’s chest again.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad you’re here too.”

“What do you say we get you something to eat?  Enjolras said you haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“I’m not hungry…”

“I know. But you need to get better. Eating will make you feel much better, I think.  What would you like.”

“Nothing.”

“I’ll surprise you, then.” He left the room, and Jehan heard muffled conversation between him and Enjolras. They were talking about him, he was sure of it, and he wished they wouldn’t.  He wanted to disappear.  He wished he could become the little cactus sitting on his windowsill, so contented and happy.

Feuilly returned a moment later with perfectly golden toast, covered in a thin layer of Nutella—Jehan’s favorite.

“Here we go. We’ll eat together. I’ll have a slice, and you have a slice too.”

“I’ll try.” Jehan agreed.

“I’m glad.” Feuilly smiled as Jehan lifted his slice and took a bite.

 

After finishing his toast and talking a bit more with Feuilly, Jehan did feel better.  In fact, he felt well enough to get out of bed and get dressed in his favorite cozy sweatshirt and a pair of floral leggings.  He even sat with Enjolras on the couch and held Feuilly’s hand.

            “You look much better, Jehan.” Enjolras said with a smile. “Feuilly really loves you, you know.” Feuilly turned a peachy shade of pink, his ears becoming red and hot with embarrassment. 

            “He must.  Otherwise he wouldn’t have put up with all of this.” He replied with a little smile.  
  
  
  
  
  
~I thought I was done with this but then I kept writing it so...


	7. Chapter 7

Slowly but surely, Jehan did feel better, and about ten days after getting out of the hospital, he made good on his promise to go strawberry picking with Feuilly.  They walked together through the apple orchard to the field of strawberry plants, the trees in bloom, the breeze making the pink petals flutter and dance. Jehan held Feuilly’s hand, and squeezed tight whenever another man passed, fearful that somehow, Montparnasse had gotten out of jail and come for him.  Feuilly always smiled and comforted him, though Jehan was never able to reciprocate with any affection.  It was true that he loved Feuilly, and wished more than anything to be with him, but he was so scared to become attached.  The only person he had ever been with was Montparnasse, and their relationship had started just like his friendship with Feuilly: sweet, slow, loving. Jehan found himself unable to trust anyone. 

            “I never went strawberry picking as a little kid.” Feuilly said as Jehan bent to pull a berry from one of the small plants.  He placed it gently into the cardboard box Feuilly carried.

            “Why not?” Jehan asked.  Strawberry picking had always been a favorite family activity for him when he was young. His parents brought him every springtime, and he simply loved it.  It brought him a sense of security, picking them with Feuilly after everything, and gave a sense of normalcy.

            “I thought I told you.  I never really had parents to take me.  I was orphaned as a baby.”

            “Were you really?  I’m sorry.” Jehan replied, a veil of genuine sadness clouding his green eyes. He wrapped his arms around Feuilly, and he gladly returned the embrace. Joly told everyone not to initiate physical contact with Jehan, and rather let him decide when he was ready. So far, the only people Jehan had hugged or snuggled up with were Feuilly and Enjolras.

            “It’s okay.  Don’t be sorry. Can’t miss what you never had.” He smiled, crouching down with the box and picking some strawberries himself. “I’m having fun, though.”

            “Me too.” Jehan replied, eating one of the sun warmed berries before looking up to him, standing on his toes.

            “What?” Feuilly asked.

            “Just looking.” He replied simply.

            “Looking at what?”

            “You.”

            “why?”

            “You’re beautiful.”

            “No I’m not!” Feuilly laughed.  “I’m too scruffy to be beautiful, Jehan.”

            “Yes…But that doesn’t mean you can’t be beautiful.  You’re very beautiful.” He continued, beginning to walk again, picking berries as Feuilly followed behind.      

            “Thanks, Jehan.” He smiled.

 

That afternoon, Enjolras helped make Jehan’s famous strawberry orange pie, crust hearts and flowers decorating the top. Feuilly watched from the counter. He wasn’t good at cooking or baking, and didn’t want to ruin anything.  He did clean up, though, to earn his slice, which was delectable. Jehan was a very good baker, and used to make treats all the time.  Enjolras was happy he was back to his old habits.  Making cakes and pies and cookies was always one of Jehan’s favorite things to do.

            When the pie was finished, they sliced it and sat on the sofa to watch reruns of France’s Funniest Home Videos, Enjolras on the armchair, Jehan snuggled against Feuilly on the sofa.

            “This pie is almost as sweet as you are, my dear.” Feuilly said with a smile, dabbing whipped cream on his nose.  Jehan smiled and wiped it away with his finger, licking it off with a smile, but it faded quickly when his hand returned to his crooked nose.

            “Your nose looks much better, Jehan,” Enjolras assured him. Jehan’s eyes flicked up. “It isn’t so swollen or bruised anymore.”

            “It’s crooked.” He replied.

            “You can get it fixed.  Joly said you need to have the deviated septum fixed anyway.”

            “Yes I know…It just bothers me, I guess.”

            “Don’t worry.  You still look lovely.” Feuilly leaned over, and Jehan closed the space between them, allowing Feuilly to kiss the bridge of his nose slowly and carefully.  Enjolras smiled.  That was the closest Jehan had allowed anyone to get to him since everything.

            “I’m proud of you, Jehan.” Enjolras said.

            “Me too.” Feuilly added.  Jehan smiled.

            “Thank you, guys.  I feel better again. I feel like maybe I could be me again.”

            “Good. I’m glad.”  Feuilly smiled.

 

It was late when the movie they had been watching ended, so Feuilly decided to sleep on the sofa rather than brave the streets to walk home.  

            It was around four in the morning when he was jolted awake by seemingly nothing. There was no sound, no movement, no lights.  Everything was silent, and still he stirred, uneasy, and wasn’t sure what to do. 

            He stood up and stretched, trying to calm himself down, but nothing seemed to work. When he couldn’t manage to lay down again, he decided to peek in on Jehan, a gut feeling telling him he should.

            He found Jehan in a trembling ball, pressed into the corner between his headboard and the wall.  Feuilly immediately reached for him, hoping to offer comfort, but Jehan held out his hands and looked away.

            “No don’t—!” he squeaked.  Feuilly recoiled, and instead sat on the pink upholstered chair near the window. Jehan continued to shake, his breathing erratic, made worse by the deviated septum in his nose. He placed his forehead on his knees and placed his hands on his head, rubbing at his cropped hair, as if trying to comfort himself.

            “You’re alright.  It’s okay.” Feuilly said from the corner, following directions Joly had given to cope with panic attacks, seeing as he predicted one happening at some point in Jehan’s recovery. “Can I do anything?”

            “No. No.  No no no no no.” he chanted, rocking back and forth. Feuilly stood and approached, only to inspect Jehan and be sure he was physically sound.  He turned on the lamp on the night table.

            “No! Off!  Turn it off!” Jehan shouted.  Feuilly immediately switched the lamp off, looking to the door. Enjolras had surely woken up, and would probably be coming in shortly.  In the short flash of light, Feuilly observed beads of sweat on Jehan’s neck, though his body was shivering as if cold.  Enjolras peeked around the door.

            “What’s wrong?” he asked Feuilly.

            “Leave! Go away!” Jehan shouted. Enjolras closed the door.

            “Do you want me to leave?” Feuilly asked.  Jehan did not reply, and Feuilly peeked out the door to Enjolras, who stood nearby.

            “Could you get one of my fans from my bag?  And a glass of water?” he asked.  Enjolras complied immediately, and Feuilly returned to Jehan, fanning his clammy skin.

            “Breathe, Jehan.” He prompted, taking a deep breath himself to demonstrate. Jehan did his best, taking a shaky breath and holding it for a moment before exhaling.  The repeated action seemed to calm him, and Feuilly smiled. “Good job.  Could I give you a hug?” he asked.

            “Mm hm.” Jehan hummed in reply.  Feuilly climbed across the bed and pulled Jehan into his lap, holding him tight, offering him comfort.  Jehan snuggled up, wiping his tears away and coming back to himself.

            “You okay?”

            “Yes.”

            “What happened?”

            “Bad dream.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “My nose hurts.”

            “Want a Tylenol?”

            “Yes please.”

Feuilly reached over and took one of the many medication bottles off the night stand, shaking out two of the small red pills and handing them to Jehan, along with a glass of water.

            “Want one of the panic attack ones?” he asked.  Since his hospital stay, Jehan had been put on numerous medications: one for anxiety and PTSD, one for depression, one to prevent infection from his surgeries, one for pain—which he had since stopped taking—and a final, emergency pill to stop panic attacks.  Jehan hadn’t taken it before, seeing as Joly said it essentially made you a zombie for about an hour, but zombie sounded like a step up from terrified for no real reason, so he nodded.  Feuilly handed him the small tablet, and he took it.

            Within a minute, the tingle in Jehan’s fingers and feet had diminished, and his breathing returned to normal.  Feuilly kissed the crown of his head, right on one of his more prominent bald spots, and admired the scent of his shampoo—happy flowers and perhaps a peachy undertone—a joyful scent, despite his despair.

            “Feeling better?” Jehan nodded.  “Can I get you anything?”

            “Enjolras.” He replied.  Enjolras had apparently been sitting just outside the door listening, seeing as he opened the door immediately.

            “Hey Jehan,” he said with a smile, sitting down beside Feuilly and placing a careful hand on Jehan’s skinny shoulder.

            “I’m sorry I shouted at you.” he replied, his voice becoming quiet and subdued—a side effect of the medication.

            “That’s alright. That was nothing compared to R.” he joked.  Though he and Grantaire had been dating for a while, they still fought to the verbal death, and could often be heard screaming at each other over silly things like forgetting to clean the coffee pot or using the others’ soap in the shower. Jehan chuckled at the joke.

            “Want to go back to sleep?” Feuilly asked.  Jehan nodded against his chest and climbed out of his lap, back into his cocoon of floral sheets, snuggled in the middle of his nest of blankets.  

            “Goodnight, Jehan.” Enjolras said, standing and slipping from the room as silently as he had come.  Feuilly took his hand and held it for a moment before standing up himself, making to leave, but Jehan held tight.

            “Could you stay with me?” he asked.

            “Sure. I’ll sit in the chair.” He smiled, but Jehan still did not release his hand.

            “Would you stay in bed?  I mean…you don’t have to, I just…I feel safe with you.” he attempted to explain, his eyelids fluttering, the medication making him sleepy.

            “Yes. Yeah of course.” Feuilly hunkered down beside him, and Jehan snuggled up against his chest, bunched up into a ball with Feuilly’s arms around him, safe and sound.

            “Thank you, Feuilly.  I’m sorry…This doesn’t make sense, does it?”

            “Why? What doesn’t make sense?”

            “I was…abused…and yet I want someone beside me…I told you to leave a few minutes ago, but now I want you to stay and hold me.  It doesn’t make much sense.”

            “That’s okay.  It doesn’t have to make sense.  Whatever makes you happy is what I’m going to do…er…not do, I guess.  I think it makes sense.  You want to feel safe.  What better way to feel safe than to snuggle up next to a friend?”

            “I love you. I really, really do.”

            “I love you too, Jehan.” 

Jehan smiled, closing his eyes and thinking back for just a moment.  It was then that it hit him.  Montparnasse had never once said ‘I love you’.  Not one time. No matter how often Jehan said those words, Montparnasse would never return the sentiment.  Jehan was so sure that he loved him, was so sure Montparnasse felt the same way he did, but few things suggested that he really did. He rarely showed his love, and never, ever said it.  Hearing Feuilly say that he loved Jehan was something he had never experienced. It was definitive proof that Feuilly was different—that Feuilly really did care about him. That was, perhaps, what made Jehan feel so safe beside him.   
  
  
  
~I am lazy and didn't read this before I posted it so I apologize for any weird bits or spelling or grammar rubbish trash stuff.  


	8. Chapter 8

Jehan was usually out of bed by 9:30 at the latest, but it was nearly noon, and Enjolras was getting worried. He stood up from where he sat at the counter, tapping away notes on his laptop, and walked to Jehan’s bedroom door, giving a gentle knock.

            “Jehan?” he said quietly when there was no reply.  “Want to get up?  I can make you pancakes or something.” He offered.  Again, there was no response save for rustling covers and an unintelligible groan.

            “Jehan I’m opening the door now.” He said, turning the handle and peeking inside. Jehan was laying on his bed, his legs bent up and over the headboard, his head laying limply on the covers, his eyes looking upside-down to Enjolras.  His hair –which was finally long enough to pull into a stubby ponytail—was spread around his head, and the curtains were drawn, allowing only a soft glow to filter through the translucent white curtains.  There was an air of awkward stillness in the room—even the flowers on the night table felt haphazard and dull.  It wasn’t exactly sadness that permeated Jehan’s small space…It wasn’t as strong as sadness.  It was more like discontent, with just a touch of aloofness, and Jehan was simply radiating the emotion, sighing heavily and letting his left arm jut over the end of his bed.

            “Are you alright?” Enjolras asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress, taking Jehan’s right hand from where it rested on his chest and holding it tight. Jehan did not reply, but shrugged slowly, his greenish eyes wandering to the mobile of happy, smiling clouds that hung above his bed.

            “Talk to me.  Tell me what’s going on.”

            “I don’t want to exist.” He finally replied.  Enjolras bowed his eyebrows.

            “But why?  You were doing so well.” He ran his thumb over Jehan’s knuckles, saddened by his words.

            “I just don’t want to exist anymore.”  He said again, blowing air towards his mobile, a moment later the clouds swayed slightly.

            “Do you want me to call Combeferre?” Enjolras asked.  Combeferre had just graduated school and was a practicing psychologist.  Jehan shook his head. “Why?  Maybe he’ll be able to help you.”

            “I don’t want help I just don’t want to exist anymore.”

            “Are you…you aren’t going to kill yourself, are you, Jehan?”

            “I don’t want to die,” he closed his eyes.  “I just don’t want to do anything.”

            “It’s okay not to want to do things sometimes…but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to exist.”

            “I might as well not exist anyway,” he straightened his legs, his heals now rested on the wall above his headboard, his lower back propped up on his pillows. He reached over near the wall and took the stuffed cat Feuilly had given him and gave it a squeeze.

            “Why would you say that?  Of course you exist. You’re wonderful, Jehan, and the world just wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t exist.”

            “I don’t do anything anymore.  I don’t like myself.  I’m ugly, I’m depressing, I can’t write anymore, I don’t have any ideas.  I’m just…just floating around aimlessly.  I don’t have a purpose.”

            “Find a purpose.  What was your purpose before Montparnasse?”

            “I don’t remember…I’m not that Jehan anymore…It doesn’t matter what his purpose was.”

            “But you are the same.  You’re still the same person.  You’re still full of love and poems and happiness.  Montparnasse just buried it.  But it’s there. It’s in there, I know it is. Your purpose is to find it again.” Enjolras tried to explain.  Though eloquent, he wasn’t nearly as poetic as Jehan when it came to abstract ideas.

            “But I don’t want to.  I want to not be anything anymore.  I don’t want to think. I don’t even want to breathe. I wish I were a flower; or a stone. Something without any emotions. I don’t want to feel.”

            “Well what are you feeling?  Maybe I can help you feel better.”

            “I don’t know.” He said, suddenly becoming harsh.  He removed his feet from the headboard and turned away, rolling onto his side and into a ball around his stuffed blue cat.

            “Do you…do you want me to stay?”  Jehan did not reply, and after a silent moment, Enjolras stood and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him and dialing Combeferre.

 

            “Hello?” Combeferre said, picking up his cell phone.

            “Hey. Are you working?”

            “I am not.  What can I do for you?” he asked.

            “It’s Jehan…I’m worried he’s suicidal.”

            “Why? What happened?”

            “He hasn’t left his room all day, and when I asked him why, he said he didn’t want to exist anymore.  I talked to him for a few minutes, but he started to get angry so I left him alone.”

            “Want me to come over?”

            “That might be good.”

            “I’ll be over in a few minutes.  Keep an eye on him, alright?”

            “Alright,” he hung up the phone and crept back to Jehan’s door, peeking through the crack to check on his friend, but little had changed.  He was still in a ball in his bed, in his pajamas, hugging his stuffed cat.  He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t sobbing. He wasn’t moving. He just was.  Perhaps that was the problem.  He didn’t want to just _be_ , he wanted there to be a verb, and there just wasn’t.

            Enjolras checked on Jehan every few minutes until Combeferre arrived, and he suggested Enjolras leave to pick up some of Jehan’s favorites: strawberries, raspberry chocolates, and lavender shortbread cookies from the bakery on the corner. As soon as Enjolras left, Combeferre knocked on Jehan’s bedroom door before entering slowly.

            “Hello, Jehan Prouvaire.” He said cheerfully, sitting on the edge of the bed, just as Enjolras had.  Jehan made to move to greet him.  In fact, he didn’t react at all.  “I heard you’re having a bit of a bad day.  Want to talk about it?”

            “No.” he replied, not angry, not sad…just…nothing.  There was no feeling, no emotion, behind his words.

            “Fair enough.” Combeferre replied.  “Something funny happened to me on the way over here, though. Would you like to hear?” Jehan shrugged, still facing away, curled in a ball around his stuffed animal, facing the wall. Combeferre took that as a yes and began with a smile.  
            “I was on my bicycle riding over here from my flat, and just as I was riding along the Seine, and a little cat slipped down the bank.  As you can imagine, he was very upset about being in the water, and was very frightened and thrashing around.  So I stopped my bike and leaned it against the guard rail, then made my way down the bank and picked up the cat.  I put him on the sidewalk and he ran away.” He explained.

            “Was he alright?” Jehan asked, finally lifting his head, showing some interest. Combeferre knew Jehan loved animals, and that his attention would be caught with a story about one.

            “Yes he was quite alright.  But I suspect he would have drowned had I not been there.  It’s strange how our lives touch so many.  That little cat would be gone had it not been for me being there at just the right moment.  Has anything like that ever happened to you?” he asked.

            “No…” Jehan replied quickly, though his mind was thumbing through memories. It had happened to him, many times.

            “But don’t you remember the little rabbits you found under the stoop out front? Their mother was hit by a car, and—”

            “I brought them to the rabbit breeder down the road…She took care of them.” Jehan finished the thought.

            “Or the bird.  You must remember the bird.” Jehan had found a pigeon bleeding on the sidewalk after being bitten by a dog. It lost a leg, and was flapping around on the sidewalk.

            “I kept him in a box until the vet came the next day.  He patched him all up.” Jehan looked to the wall above the bed. A picture of the pigeon was tacked on his expansive cork board, along with a picture of the baby bunnies in a towel.

            “You’ve even saved plants!  That cactus on the windowsill was nearly dead when you found it, remember? It was at that tag sale we went to, me, you, and Enjolras.  The woman gave it to you for free because she thought it had died.”

            “I remember.” Jehan said, finally turning over and looking to the window, the cactus sitting happily on the sill, a single, vibrant flower sprouting from the very top.

            “You have touched so many lives, Jehan.  But you don’t have to save a life to impact it.  You’ve impacted my life.  Courfeyrac had you write that love letter for him because he didn’t know what to say.  That’s how he asked me to our first date.  Enjolras is your best friend.  You live together. He loves you dearly. And Feuilly.  Did you know that before he joined our volunteer group in college, he tried to commit suicide?  Do you know what made him go to therapy?  It was you. He loved you, Jehan. He wanted to get better for you.” tears sprang to Jehan’s eyes, and he sat up, putting his face in his hands.

            “He did so much for me, and I didn’t even realize.” He mumbled into his palms, his hair sticking up in every direction.

            “But you did realize!  You realize right now. And the moment he gets home from work, I know you’re going to show him how much you love him and appreciate him.”

            “I don’t show him I appreciate him…I wished I wasn’t alive today. I wished I never existed. If I really cared about him, I would never have thought that.” He leaned into Combeferre’s chest, and Combeferre gave him a hug, his long, wiry arms easily engulfing Jehan.

            “You don’t think that now, do you?”

            “No. No I want to keep being alive. I have to be alive.”

            “Everything would be very different without you, Jehan.  You’ve made this world so much brighter.  Don’t let someone as small and ill-spirited as Montparnasse take away your light.”  Jehan pulled away and nodded, wiping his tears on his sleeve not a moment before Enjolras opened the door, a pastry box in his hands.

            “I got those lavender cookies you like.” He said with a grin. “There’s more out on the counter, if you’re interested.”  Jehan smiled meekly and took a heart-shaped cookie from the white cardboard box.

            “Thank you, Enjolras.” He cooed.

 

Jehan was out on the sofa in his favorite, far-too-big sweatshirt, laughing with Enjolras and eating cinnamon popcorn as they watched re-runs of Adventure Time when Feuilly returned from the garage. Though he was covered in grease and wearing a ripped work shirt, Jehan sprung up and hugged him tight.

            “Missed you too!” Feuilly joked with a chuckle.

            “I love you.” he said quietly.

            “I love you too.” He replied, sitting on the sofa and pulling Jehan close to his side, holding him nice and close.

            “I’m happy you’re here with me.” Jehan cooed.

            “I’m happy you’re here with me too.” Feuilly smiled.  Enjolras grinned and shook his head.  Where did he find such huge doofuses? 


End file.
